about living her life

The house was full of fucked-up people. The landlord lived seven minutes away. A girl moved in, wanting the excitement, a house with seven wild roommates. But it was bad. One tenant killed somebody in his room. She listened to the beaten-to-death guest choke on his own blood on the other side of the wall. Now she hears the noise he made all the time. She listened to the police interview a couple of other tenants outside, heard this through her window. She moved back in with dad. For old dad, she thought, what couldn’t be measured on a gauge—pounds per square inch, mileage, fluid ounces—could hardly be said to exist at all. So it was with all her trauma—she felt alone, and she hungers to make the sound of death herself.

about legal drama "Judge Judy"

The judge stated the facts of the case. The couple had lived together and have one child. The woman also has children from a different relationship. The judge asked how many. In this courtroom built from concrete composite such a shame and brick, finished with mother's defiant girl and wood paneling she tilted her head down in answer, "Two. Two other children." Stain spread wings when life's changes happen in only a few words.